


HOWL

by MindfulDemon



Category: Hunger Games (2012), Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-04
Packaged: 2017-11-23 13:19:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindfulDemon/pseuds/MindfulDemon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time you touch, your muscles are burning, your heart racing fast, airway constricted and breathing labored. You buck and strain beneath her, frustration and fury roaring like a flame inside you. And you want revenge, you want blood, you want to cut her to ribbons and wrap her around your finger. Because she's not as weak, not as easy to break as you thought she would be. And true to your character, you see it as nothing more than just another challenge. Clove/Katniss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story switches between Clove and Katniss' POV each chapter. The first chapter is in Clove's POV, the next one will be in Katniss' POV, and so on.

The first time you see her is at the reaping. They're televised, public. Always have been. You're about to laugh off District Twelve like the pathetic joke that they are. And then everything changes.

From that moment on, she's on the top of your list. No one else is going to touch her, no one else will spill her blood. You make that much clear to Cato. You'll give the audience a good show alright…

 

_"Afraid?"_

_It's a breathless challenge as sharp as the knife you have pressed to her pale throat, her chest still heaving from the fight. She stares into your eyes defiantly, still straining to get free of your grip. Her challenging snarl sends a thrill up your spine, and your grip on the knife tightens._

_"Not even close."_

The first time you  _notice_  her is in the training center. Because you've spent your entire life preparing for this, taught all of the things to look for when evaluating an opponent. The girl on fire has already stolen your thunder in the tribute parade- and yet now, she's holding back.

It's a murderous curiosity; you want her bare, you want her broken, you want her exposed. You want to tear her open from the inside out, leave her weak and shattered.

 

_You feel her eyes on your back just as clearly as the blade in your hand. Silver and flashing you send it sailing, slicing through the air over your shoulder with a flick of your wrist to embed itself deeply in the wall mere inches away from her face. The Peacekeepers are on you in an instant, scolding you, pinning your hands behind your back as if they honestly believe you wouldn't be capable of breaking free if you wanted to. She's still in shock, staring you at as the Peacekeepers lead you away, and you sneer at her. You loose sight of her as you're lead around the corner, but not before you see the chill of fear run up her spine, and she averts her gaze._

_Worried… good. She should be._

The first time you touch, your muscles are burning, your heart racing fast, airway constricted and breathing labored. You buck and strain beneath her, frustration and fury roaring like a flame inside you.

And you want revenge, you want blood, you want to cut her to ribbons and wrap her around your finger. Because she's not as weak, not as easy to break as you thought she would be.

And true to your character, you see it as nothing more than just another challenge.

 

_You can only imagine what she must have been thinking when her score had been announced. An Eleven. A fucking Eleven. Probably shocked, ecstatic. Thrilled._

_But you? You're seeing red. Because a high score means sponsors. Sponsors mean supplies. Supplies mean survival. She's stolen your thunder._

_Again._

The night of the interview comes and you've stopped testing her, stopped pushing her. You're still itching to ruin her, lusting to hold a blade to that beautiful pale throat and force her to accept defeat, to see the defiance fade from her eyes. You want to see her break. You want to see it with your own eyes. And you want to be the reason. You'll give the audience the show of their lives… But there's just no fun in defeating a helpless opponent. So you decide to wait until the games.

But that plan goes up in flames the moment that  _he_  opens his mouth.

 

_Well there is this one girl..._ _I don't think winning will help..._ _She came here with me._

_Something boils up inside you. Anger, jealousy perhaps. Because she belongs to you, she's yours, you've cut her deep and made your home beneath her skin. She's seen the way you look at her, like a predator looks at prey. And still, she doesn't run. Maybe it's the challenge, maybe it's the thrill you get from taking her apart, one piece at a time._

_Either way, you don't intend to share._

_With anyone._


	2. Chapter 2

You're not sure what you're doing anymore.

" _What the fuck was that for!"_

_She's got you pinned against the wall of the training center, far from prying eyes. It's lunch hour but you'd both chosen to stay behind here and practice. You're not sure why she bothered to stay; you've seen her throw, and she's perfect. She never misses. Some part of you knows that it's for bragging rights, and the way she glances at you before she sends a knife sailing doesn't escape your notice. She's rubbing it in, taunting you, because she's a trained killer and you're just a weakling from Twelve. You're irritated, and the next time she turns her back to throw, an arrow whips past her face, beating her to the target and striking dead center. You know she won't kill you, you know she can't kill you. But she's grinning wickedly now, and the predatory look in her eyes gives you a thrill you can't explain._

_Maybe you should have thought this through._

The first time she catches your eye (or perhaps it's the other way around) is at the Tribute Parade. You've stolen the spotlight and all eyes are on you, including hers. And Haymitch is talking but you're not really listening, and it takes him a minute to figure that out but when he does he's dragging you away, and you turn just in time to meet her eyes; staring with that same glint in her eyes, that smirk on her face. Hungry. The eyes of a hunter before the kill.

Haymitch finally manages to drag you away, and she's gone.

 

_You should have known better than to test her._

_You're standing in front of the mirror in your flat, ghosting your fingers over the elegant C just above your collarbone and wondering how in hell you're going to explain this to Cinna. It's not a deep cut and the bleeding had stopped ages ago, but you can still remember the wicked delight, the grin on her face as you'd bit your lip, intent not to make a sound. The way she'd looked you in the eye as she'd left her mark, there for everyone to see._

_You shiver, but not from the cold._

 

The next time you see her, you see  _her_. The steel in her eyes, the way she sometimes glances at you before a particularly vicious throw. And still, you can't draw yourself away. She's murder and hate, slaughter and sin, and you should be afraid and you  _are_  afraid. But you're also determined, determined to get back to your sister, to Madge, determined to  _not let her win._

Because morals be damned, you're going  _home._

_On the night of the interviews, you're standing in line. Cinna isn't as pissed as you had imagined he would be- the man doesn't seem to do anger. Instead he takes in the fading cut from two days prior with a grave look. You wait for his reaction with bated breath but the rage never comes, a warning and almost... sad? look crossing his face as he bites his lip, looking at you._

" _Why didn't you tell anyone?"_

_You don't answer, because you can't answer. You don't have the answer he's looking for, or perhaps you do, but you're far from ready to say it out loud. Far from ready to acknowledge it. So you stand there in silence as he pins up your hair, playing with it and trying to work out a style that will cover what she's done. You and him both know that almost the entirety of the Capitol knows that you despise wearing your hair down; this is going to be tough to cover up. You really should have known better than to push her._

_You sit there in silence for a few precious moments, acutely aware of the way that your heart pounds in your chest when you think of her._

" _Don't let her use you, Katniss. She's a career."_

_You don't have anything to say. Because it's a little too late for that now, isn't it? You swallow and nod blankly, turning your attention instead to the screen in front of you and watching her stroll on stage to the roar of applause. Your eyes rake over her face, over her body, taking in the smallest of details ranging from the way she walks to the way she wets her lips with her tongue before she speaks._

_You're addicted, and you couldn't escape if you tried._

_And somehow, that's alright._


	3. Chapter 3

You knew this moment would come, but that doesn't make it any easier.

 

_"Kill her Cato! Just kill her, Cato! Come on! Kill her Cato!"_

_Katniss is giving you that hard stare of hers from up in the tree; you can feel Peeta's baleful glare drilling holes into the back of your head. You're pissed; pissed with Cato, pissed with Peeta, pissed with her. She's testing you. Cato tries and fails to climb the tree but you cheer him on anyway, staring right up into fire girl's eyes all the while. Because you both know all too well how easily you could scale that tree and slit her pretty little throat; the look in her eyes is a challenge, daring you to try something. Still, you want to see how this plays out. Glitter or whatever the fuck her name is is trying now; she can't shoot for shit and you wonder how in hell she met the requirements for a volunteer from District One. Cato snatches the bow from her irritably. He shoots and misses, cursing loud enough for the entire capitol to hear. Not that they wouldn't hear it anyway. Fucking cameras everywhere._

_"Maybe you should throw the sword!"_

_Everyone looks to you and you scowl, irritated with her bravado. You thought you'd taught her a lesson at the bloodbath, thought you'd reminded her who she belongs to when you'd spared her life; apparently not. Pacing impatiently at the base of the tree, you watch her getting comfortable._

_Looks like you'll have to remind her again._

You don't have much of a chance to speak to her after the interviews, but your blood is boiling, simmering. She's yours; her mind, her body, her heart. You've claimed her in every way, explored every inch of her ivory skin, felt the shudder that rocks her to the core as she comes undone beneath you. Heard the way your name falls from her lips like some desperate, bleeding prayer.

She's yours. Whether she realizes it or not.

 

_You wouldn't be this rough if she didn't love it this much. You're not entirely sure when that changed, but it scares you. Because you shouldn't care, you shouldn't give a damn about her. This is about you. You're the one in charge here, you're the one messing with her mind. Or at least that's how it should be._

_She buries her face in your shoulder, muffling a cry that would have given you both away, and after, when she's panting for breath and oh so vulnerable, you can't tear your eyes away. And you kiss her._

_You kiss her, and it's warm and soft and meaningful, and it terrifies you._

_You can't sleep that night, heart pounding in your chest, paralyzed by the fear of what this has become._

_Suddenly, this isn't a game anymore._


	4. Chapter 4

Something about her has changed. You're not sure what and you're not sure when and you're not sure why. But something is different. You could feel it in the way she had kissed you, the way she'd looked at you, just hours ago under the Capitol's false sky.

It had been new. It had stoked up a fire, not added fuel to the flame. It had been warm, soft; careful, almost.

But most importantly, it had been  _real._

The thought scares you far less than it should.

 

_You eye the capitol woman with the syringe as she works her way ti each tribute, asking them to hold out their arm. You've never had a particular fondness of needles, sure, but for some reason your stomach churns at the sight. Maybe it's the final realization that your life is in their hands now, the realization that it's up to them whether you live or die. Up to the other tributes, up to the game makers, up to the Capitol._

_You have never been in control._

_"Hold out your arm, please."_

_"What is that?"_

_"It's your tracker. Hold out your arm, please."_

_You do as you're told._

Looking down, it's hard to reconcile Clove's peaceful sleeping form with the vicious killer she is in the waking world. It only makes you feel worse for what you're about to do, but you have to do it. You have to get away. You cling to her knife like you cling to her memory, knowing all too well that what you're about to do could very well kill her. But you don't want to think about that. She'll get away, she has to. She's clever like that.

You take a deep breath.

 

_Your head is screaming as you scramble back on your hands and knees, raising your pack up as a last defense. You can't believe this; after all you've been through, you're going to die here, meaningless. You shut your eyes tightly, ready for the end. Ready as you'll ever be, that is. You don't think anyone is ever truly ready to die._

_The blow never comes._

_You open your eyes, scrambling out from under him as the tribute stumbles and falls to the ground, blood dribbling down his chin. Time slows down. You're almost too shocked to process what just happened. Almost. But not quite._

_She saved you._

_You stare at her wide-eyed for a moment, eyes flickering back and forth between the knife in the other tribute's back and her cold, remorseless eyes. She's calm, collected; completely in her element. The realization chills you. She's a killer. You'd always known, but suddenly it's real. And that makes it terrifying. But you can't draw your eyes away._

_The world is back up to speed, and suddenly she's aiming for you. Or is she? The knife digs deep into your pack and you scramble to your feet, heart pounding impossibly in your chest and blood roaring in your ears._

_You survived._

_Because of her._

Steeling yourself, you clench your teeth down on the grip of the knife and start climbing. The hive is only a few branches above your head; you glance down at the sleeping careers below you, knowing you don't have much time. This has to be quick but it can't be reckless, and you know all too well that you're in just as much danger as they are.

All you can do now is hope.


End file.
